Manin, Wryda, Hugin
by Tyrammafar
Summary: Eragon wakes in his home and finds to his horror that it was all a dream.He had never been a rider...Saphira had never hatched for him.Armed with nothing more than a knife,he leaves the farm and sets off to find Saphira...wherever she may be...
1. The Dream

Eragon flicked his blade forward and through a man's throat, blood flying into the faces of the other soldiers around him. Saphira roared and charged, her breath wiping dozens of men from the earth as easily as Eragon might have ripped a piece of parchment. A rather large soldier ran at him with a club, yelling loudly so that Eragon's ears rang with the sound.

Saphira knocked those soldiers that were nearby away, clearing room so Eragon could swing his blade with more ease. The man charged, not even trying to defend himself in any way, and it caught Eragon off guard. The wooden club connected solidly with his temple, and as the world swirled he fell to the ground, his face skywards.

_Eragon! _Saphira cried. _Eragon, don't leave me!_

_Saphira…fly…I'll come to you…go!_

_ERAGON!_

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Eragon jerked upright, and his head bumped into someone else's. "Ow, Eragon, you didn't have to do that!" Roran said beside him. Eragon blinked to clear the grit from his eyes.

"What happened? Did we win the battle? Did Saphira make it out okay?" Eragon asked quickly.

"Whoa, steady." Roran said, pulling Eragon up so he could sit properly. "Now what's all this about battles? Were you having some strange nightmare?"

"Roran, don't you remember, the Varden's camp was attacked and-" Eragon suddenly understood. "Roran?! Wait, what happened…where's Saphira?!"

"Now you're babbling." Roran said with a shake of his head. "Who's Saphira?" Eragon reached out with his mind, but try as he might there was no sign of the dragon. Eragon leapt out of bed, and to his astonishment he saw that he was in his room, back at the farm in Carvahall.

"But…Saphira…no, this can't be real!" Eragon cried, beating his fist on the wall. "SAPHIRA!" Roran slapped Eragon on the back of the head.

"Snap out of it, cousin, you're not thinking right. Now tell me who Saphira is." Eragon looked at him and shook his head.

"Saphira…is my dragon, remember? I introduced you to her after the battle of the Burning Plains…"

"Eragon, you had a dream about being a dragon rider? I'll admit that is better than my dream in-"

"It wasn't a dream!" Eragon cried. "I felt pain! I was a rider, you were a general, Katrina was locked away in Helgrind…no…Saphira…I can't lose you…"

"Eragon, you're getting to the point where you would be called delusional, just calm down." Roran shook his head and forced Eragon to his bed. "Now, tell me what's bothering you."

"Roran…that couldn't have been a dream…I had felt pain…I was there for a year." Eragon held his chest. "No…Saphira…she was everything to me." Roran sighed. "Roran, it was true. I was hunting in the Spine and I found a dragon egg, a blue one, and it hatched for me. I named her Saphira and we went with Brom to Dras-Leona, and he was killed. A man name Murtagh saved my life and Saphira's, and we went to the Varden after saving an elf named Arya. I met the dwarven king…I slew a Shade!" Eragon was nearly yelling. "I was the dragon rider of the Varden! It had to have been real! I feel the hole where Saphira was…Saphira, why did this happen, why…" Roran pat him on the back.

"I know what you mean, sometimes dreams feel real, but you have to let go." Eragon wept into his arms and Roran left. "I'll tell Garrow you're sick."

_Saphira…where are you? _Eragon called with his mind, trying to find her with desperation. She was nowhere in his mind, and not even the thin tendril that connected them was there. She had never existed. _Was it really all a dream? I know everything about the war…I could do something…Saphira…_

Eragon looked down at his hand, and to his horror it was normal skin, the gedwey ignasia gone from him.

He wasn't a rider

_SAPHIRA!_

**Am I cruel or what? Please review, for the story's sake. I will not post on this story until my others are done, so expect a long wait...until then, read my other stories and get a feel for my writing!  
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	2. Memory

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**Chapter 2**

**Memory**

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Eragon sat on the edge of his bed, looking down at the grain of the wooden floor, half-awake to what was being said outside his door.

"I don't know, father; he's been like this all morning." Roran said. "He's gotten himself really worked up over a dream he had, and now he's not moving from the spot where I left him."

"Do you think he's sick?" The other voice was Garrow…Eragon's dead uncle Garrow.

"No, I don't think so, but he's not doing too well. He seems a little distressed right now…maybe we should leave him be for a little while, let him recover."

"Well…alright." Eragon heard them walking away. "While we finish with the table, go ahead and tell me about this dream of his…"

Eragon stood up, looking to his right at the shelf where he had kept Saphira's egg. There was nothing there. If he didn't have the egg…where was it? Did Durza get it? Eragon shuddered at the thought. Did he already find it, but left it in the woods? _No…if I had found it I would have felt the connection and not dropped it. That leaves only one possible option…_

_Arya still has it. _Eragon looked down at his unmarked hands, barely noticing that the scar on his wrist was still there. _I have to get to Ellesmera…I have to find the Varden and get to that egg if I want to see Saphira again…_

_But how do I get there? I may know everything that a rider knows, but I'm still a farmboy! I don't have my strength or speed anymore, though I have my skill…I never broke my wrist, I have not been cut by Durza…I know the ancient language fluently! _

Eragon pushed himself from the bed, gritting his teeth to keep himself from crying out loud. "I…I'm going to go to the Varden." He said with certainty; it seemed to him that he was only barely convincing himself to not lie down and die then and there. "If I have any hope of seeing Saphira again, I'm going to have to find her myself.

"Although…" Eragon held his head in his hands, leaning against the wall for support. "…I might need Roran. He's strong…stronger than me, at least in this state. How could I convince him to come with me? And what about Garrow? He would never let me without solid facts to prove I know what I'm doing! If Brom were here, he would…"

Eragon jerked upright, hitting his head on a shelf and knocking it down, scattering bits and pieces of the things he had collected over the floor, though he ignored this and the pain completely. "_Brom!_" He cried. "He should be here! The Ra'zac never got to him!" Eragon sat down on the bed again, breathing slowly to calm himself. It was very difficult. "Brom is here…hopefully. If I can convince him that I was supposed to be a Rider, then he might be able to take me to the Varden. I'm going to need Zar'roc as well…

"But how to convince him?" Eragon thought for a moment. "I could talk to him in the ancient language, and he would know I was telling the truth. Then again, if it _was _a dream, he wouldn't understand a thing. There's no harm in trying, and I have everything to gain…but Saphira to lose."

Eragon finally stood again, opening his door and striding into the main area of the house. Roran and Garrow were nowhere to be seen there…but everything seemed to be the way he remembered it; for some reason the table was missing, however. On an impulse, Eragon grabbed a knife and stuck it into his boot, leaving the house and stepping out into the freezing winter air.

Roran and Garrow were outside, working on the table that Eragon had seen was missing. Its legs were broken, and they were trying to find pieces of wood that would replace them. Garrow seemed to be having more luck with things, however, as Roran was distracted by something in his thoughts.

"What happened?" Eragon asked, picking up a long shard of broken wood.

Garrow snorted. "Roran threw that doe onto the table instead of taking it to the barn, and the weight made it collapse."

"What doe?" Eragon asked incredulously. Garrow glanced at him.

"The one you shot, of course."

_So I shot the doe…her egg didn't appear at all, then. _Eragon thought to himself. _I'm going to have to remember that…one event changed and suddenly there are other changes relating to it. Why didn't it appear? Was it sent? Was it sent somewhere else? Was Arya attacked? _Eragon shuddered. _Did Durza get his hands on it? _Eragon resolved to slay the shade quick this time, and avoid any giant crystals while he did so.

"You feeling better, cousin?" Roran asked, swinging a stick of wood at him.

Purely out of reflex, Eragon brought the shard of the table leg up in an arc, knocking the stick from Roran's hand and putting the sharp tip against his collarbone. He could still fight…

"Hey, now, take it easy!" Roran cried, brushing the stick away from him. "You're a little jumpy…something about the Spine?"

"I think…" Eragon thought quickly, tossing the stick away. "…I think I need to see Gertrude." It wasn't really a lie; he had to see Gertrude anyway when he saw Brom.

"I'll see him to town, then…" Roran said, and when he saw that Garrow was going to protest he added: "And I'll pick up some new legs for the table. I think Morn has some spare table legs for his tavern, and he still owes me from that bet we made last winter."

Garrow sighed. "I cannot have anyone being sick…go ahead, and stay together."

--

"So tell me more about this dream you had."

Eragon glanced to his right, meeting Roran's calm brown eyes, and then he looked back to the road that they both walked along, slowly approaching the town.

"It wasn't a dream." Eragon said after a long moment.

"As you say…but I would like to know more about it, regardless."

Eragon sighed. _There is no harm in telling him some of it…and I might need him still. _"I told you; I am…was…a rider. I fought for the Varden, and my dragon's name is…was…Saphira." Saying the name made his throat tighten.

"I heard that part…why not tell me something more detailed." Roran smiled and almost laughed. "It's been a long time since you dreamed at all…"

"It wasn't a dr-…nevermind." Eragon broke off. "I was hunting in the Spine, and when I was going to shoot that doe an egg appeared." He began explaining. "That is the point where my memory and this reality split from eachother. I thought it was a stone, and tried to sell it, and then it hatched. I was bonded to a blue dragon…her name is…was…Saphira."

"Sounds like some noblewoman in the king's court…" Roran commented, kicking a stone in the path.

"She is _far _better than any noblewoman." Eragon muttered.

"I'd imagine a dragon would be a more reasonable creature than a woman, really…" Eragon smiled at the joke, but didn't laugh. "So overall it was a great dream…erm…whatever it was?"

"Carvahall was burned to the ground."

"What?"

"Carvahall." Eragon muttered. "It was destroyed by the king's men. You led the villagers to safety in Surda, after almost marrying, traveling through the Spine, sneaking into cities where you were wanted, stealing a ship, sailing through a maelstrom, and fighting a battle on a plain of ash." He smiled. "They call you 'Stronghammer'."

"Sounds like the dream me is a little more adventurous than the real me." Roran said glumly, obviously thinking about Carvahall being destroyed.

"Well…" Eragon put an arm around Roran's shoulders. "…he couldn't throw a punch to save his life, either."

"Hey!"

"I'm joking, Roran!" Eragon laughed, shoving Roran away from him.

Carvahall looked just as he remembered it, although there were a few more people out in the streets now. Eragon pointed across to almost the other side of the village.

"There…that's where we are going." He said softly.

"I thought you were seeing Gertrude?"

"We will…after I talk with old Brom the 'storyteller'…"


	3. Letters to Brom

**Chapter 3**

**Letters to Brom**

The sky was clouded over that morning, and it looked as though it would snow later in the day, or even storm according to one woman with bad joints. There was no snow on the ground now, but the earth was so frozen that it was hard and unyielding as stone, and any liquid left outside would freeze within a few minutes.

Eragon was used to cold, having experienced much colder than this when astride Saphira, flying above the clouds. The thought of Saphira made him choke, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward to Brom's door, feeling a little odd being there.

"Roran…this is between Brom and I." He said softly, barely glancing over his shoulder to look at his cousin. Roran frowned but nodded.

"I'll be at Morn's, then. Don't do anything stupid, cousin." Eragon's lip twitched in a smile and he waited until Roran had turned before he knocked on the door.

It swung open, not being fully closed. Eragon glanced back at his cousin's retreating figure, then pushed the door open more and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

It was dark inside, and far colder than an occupied house would normally have been; the stove was out, and there was ice frozen on the inside of the window where there had been a leak. "Brom?" Eragon called out.

The parchment that still filled the room absorbed his voice, leaving it sound dull.

"Brom, are you home?" Eragon asked, more loudly. Still no answer, and Eragon stepped forwards deeper into the small home; there seemed something odd about the way things looked. He remembered what Brom's home had looked like before he had left the valley so long ago…or, as he would have…and something seemed off.

Books. There were fewer of them than he had seen before; where they had once been stacked, now a few lay open with bits of scrap stuck into the pages to hold them open for reading, and there were far fewer. A bit of loose clothing was scattered here and there, and a half-packed bag hung by its single threadbare strap on the wall near the door.

Brom must have been gone for at least a day, and he left his home unexpectedly.

"This doesn't bode well…" Eragon thought grimly; few things could put the storyteller in such a rush that he'd leave his home wide open and with all his belongings scattered. Either it was a matter of the greatest urgency, or he….had been made to leave by force. "No, this doesn't bode well at all…"

Eragon crept around a small pile of what seemed to be rags, peering around for any sign of where Brom had gone; details were something he had been taught to look for by the elves. Surely he could pick up something…

"Didn't think it would be easy, did you?"

Eragon jumped, scattering parchment as he stumbled to the floor, scrambling to his back and looking towards the door; a man was leaning against the now-open doorframe. He was old, and balding, but certainly not Brom; this man had sharp features and mottled skin, pale in places and red in others. He seemed to shake slightly where he stood, and took a drink from a small metal flask.

"I-…I'm sorry, who are you?"

The man smiled; he had not a single tooth in his mouth. "Names are powerful things, boy."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. '_What's he mean? Strange old man…'_

"And you're an strange young boy," the human said instantly, straightening his grey tunic in indignation.

"How did you-?"

"Read your thoughts?" he interjected. He paused to take another sip from the flask, clearing his throat noisily. "Because I can. No better explanation. I assume you're here for Brom?"

"Where is he?" Eragon scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes. "I _must_ speak with him, it's very urg-"

"He's gone," the man interrupted again, not bothering to close the door as he walked inside. "…gone for a week, I imagine. He left rather quick when I delivered those letters to him."

Eragon thought for a moment, stepping back from the man; he didn't want to get too close…he just didn't trust the old geezer. Anyone that could read another's mind was to be respected, if not feared; without his magic he was blind to such things. No amount of training could unlock a door that was no longer there.

"You must be….Eragon, is it?" the man asked, narrowing his tired grey eyes and looking him over thoughtfully. "…not very impressive, considering what Brom said of you."

"He…what did he say about me?"

"Said you were an outstanding young man, is what," the old man said quietly, turning away. He snorted. "You're a child. That cannot change. But no matter…Brom is not here, and you shouldn't be either."

"And you? Who are you? Why are _you _here?"

The man had been making to leave, but turned back and glared at Eragon. "I? I am here to cheat."

"To…to cheat?"

"Yes, to cheat," the old man repeated, confusing Eragon even further as he began to walk out of the door. He stopped just outside, peering around as a light snow began to fall before he took another sip from the silvery flask. "To accidentally leave information I'm not supposed to, tottering old fool that I am."

By now Eragon was simply confused instead of suspicious, but his eyes widened as the old man spun around with remarkable agility, throwing something at Eragon. He instinctively ducked as he saw a flash of silver light, and a metallic pinging sounded from behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" the man growled, retreating from the door. "…I'm giving you a push in the right direction."

Eragon was about to leap up to tackle the old man, but instead found him already in the road, walking swiftly away. "What…?" he gasped. "…what was all that? What did he..?" Eragon turned around, sweeping his gaze around the room until he spotted what had been thrown at him; the metal flask the man had been drinking from, now empty. Eragon glanced over his shoulder before warily approaching it.

It was an unimpressive little container; the metal that made it was scratched on the outside but gleamed nevertheless, and the lid was made of some kind of cork attached by a leather thong running from a loop of metal on the side.

Eragon reached down to pick it up, almost dropping it when he felt the surface; it was very warm from the man's hands. He barely trusted the man, but he seemed to know something of both him and Brom, and the only way he would receive any answers was to figure out what he had meant by 'cheating'.

Engraved on the side of the flask was a line of script, in the ancient language no less. Eragon blinked in surprise and looked it over; he could still read. "Good rum is a tale of its own," he read. It seemed to be a message either to the old man from himself or a friend; maybe they had had rum together, or the man was reminding himself that his drink was a good one.

Or something. Obviously the man liked his drink, because the flask was completely empty now.

What was Eragon supposed to gather from this? And what letters had the man delivered to Brom that made him leave in such a hurry? Why didn't _any _of this make any sense?

Rum. _Rum_. Something about the word made Eragon scratch his head thoughtfully; what was it? Rum was a rather exotic alcoholic drink from the south. It was supposed to be warming on cold days. Morn had a jug.

Rum. Made in the south. Specifically, the town of….

"Feinster? Isn't that where…Brom was born?"

Eragon pocketed the flask with some hesitation, leaning back to sit on the floor and think. "What did he mean by cheating? Cheating at what and cheating with who?" It was a difficult puzzle, and Eragon couldn't make heads or tails of it. The man didn't precisely look foreign, nor was he from Carvahall. And he didn't have an accent that was placeable either. "...whoever he is, he knows Brom. And Brom left...

"I've got to find that old man and wring this out of him..." he concluded.

He was about to stand when he saw something from the corner of his eye, at the windowsill. He turned his head sharply to catch a fleeting glance of _something _moving outside of it. A flicker of light, very faint against the gray sky. Eragon jumped to his feet and leaped over a stool to reach the window, pressing his hands to either side as his nose almost bumped the glass; the flicker of light had vanished, and he couldn't discern what it had been.

"Eragon?"

He cursed softly under his breath; it was Roran, outside the still-open door. Eragon shook his head, passing off whatever he saw as trickery of the light on the faint snow that had just begun to fall, turning and nodding to Roran as his cousin stepped in the doorway. "Brom wasn't here; looks like he left in a hurry."

"Hmph. Crazy old storyteller," Roran said passively; he was holding a Y-shaped stick with a rock wedged in the Y, likely a destructive implement he had snatched from one of the rowdier boys in the village.

"Yeah...crazy."

**Author's Note:**

**Oh dear, was I missed? Well crap! Didn't think anyone still read my stuff.**

**So, to sort of give you all something to chew on, I winged another chapter and am working on others. I wasn't expecting to ever finish this story, so forgive the haphazardness of this chapter? And the shortness; it's five AM. **

**As to where I've been? Working, graduating, playing Second Life, enjoying myself in general, taking a long break, and UTTERLY hating book three of this series. I mean COME ON Paolini? Your story is starting to sound like one of my fanfictions! (Oh yes, I went there.)**

**That said, I ignore the canonocity of Book Three. I'll write my stories as though it never was written and once this story is done...I might just focus on my own stories instead of writing fanfictions. My stories are a bit sad now that I'm looking at them again, and overall I just have lost interest. But don't worry, I'll try to get back in the loop and writye some more for you guys until I vanish completely. **


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